


Early Mornings

by AngelofPerdition



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofPerdition/pseuds/AngelofPerdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dogmeat doesn’t bark that often, luckily, except when he’s fighting. Which is why Preston immediately reaches for his gun when he bolts upright in bed. Sturges, in the bed on the other side of the room, simply snorts in his sleep and turns over again. Sometimes Preston envies his ability to sleep through anything. When there’s a potential threat, he does not.</p>
<p>He doesn't take Oliver and his tendency to wake up early into account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something about Preston ogling Oliver while he’s working out. You can probably tell the exact moment I got impatient and just wanted to finish it.

Dogmeat is pretty much the antithesis of the saying “his bark is worse than his bite”. Considering that his bark is almost as loud as a gun being fired, that’s bad new for whoever gets on his bad side.  
Dogmeat doesn’t bark that often, luckily, except when he’s fighting. Which is why Preston immediately reaches for his gun when he bolts upright in bed. Sturges, in the bed on the other side of the room, simply snorts in his sleep and turns over again. Sometimes Preston envies his ability to sleep through anything. When there’s a potential threat, he does not.

Dogmeat barks again, followed by a growl. There’s a sound of flesh hitting… something. Preston slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of pants and his shoes.  
Outside, the early morning mist hasn’t faded yet, but it’s already pretty warm. Preston keeps close to the cover of the wall as he makes his way to the old playground. There’s a low hedge in front of him, which he crouches behind. He holds his breath, waiting for any indication that he’s been spotted, or the sound of gunfire. Neither is forthcoming, though Dogmeat barks again.

This time, however, it’s followed by a familiar laugh and a low voice. “Quiet boy. You’ll wake everyone.” A quiet huff, shuffling, and another laugh. “Come on then. Give me a challenge.”  
Preston lets out his breath. He has no idea what the General is doing up this early, but he feels a little silly all the same. He now recognizes the earlier sound of flesh hitting something as the General hitting his improvised punching bag. He lowers his gun and looks over the hedge.

The General is wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, cut off at the knee. He keeps his hands protectively in front of his face and bounces loosely on the balls of his feet. Dogmeat darts around him, snapping at his heels and jumping at his throat, keeping enough distance that he wouldn’t do any damage in case the General failed to dodge. He has his back turned to Preston, so Preston can’t see the look of concentration on his face - that mixture of joy and focus he gets when he’s working out, sometimes even in an actual fight - but he can picture it.

Preston gets it, sort of. He may not get that rush the General seems to get when he’s fighting, but he’s sure that if he did, he’d enjoy every second of it as well. But Preston has never been all that sure in combat, especially hand-to-hand. He doesn’t have that instinct that tells him when to duck, when to strike. He has to think about it. It doesn’t come natural to him.

There’s nothing that doesn’t look completely natural about the way the General jumps to the side to avoid Dogmeat’s fangs at his calf, then delivers a swift jab to the centre of the punching bag. It’s entrancing to watch the General fight. Despite his bulk, he’s quick on his feet, and more patient than most would think. He dodges and deflects until he gets an opening. It depends on the timing and placement of that opening whether he exploits it with a swift, sharp jab, or a merciless, iron-fisted punch. Preston isn’t too proud to admit that his throat gets a little dry when the General packs all his strength behind a punch.

He doesn’t mean to keep watching, really. He means to go back to bed and catch another hour of sleep, maybe two, before the duties of the day come calling. That’s what he means to do.  
The reason that that doesn’t happen is a little ridiculous, really. Preston is sure he’ll be embarrassed by it later. The sun finally breaks through the mist and catches in the sheen of sweat on the General’s back as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.

That’s about when he remembers he’s still crouched behind a hedge, and that that could be considered vaguely creepy. The way he sees it, he has two options: either sneak back to bed and hope no one noticed him; or get to his feet and greet his General like he hadn’t been watching, or spying, or - what had he been doing, really? Neither option really appeals to him, but that hardly fazes him. He’s not sure he can remember the last appealing option he had in any situation. He gets to his feet.

“General.”

The General turns around, the tension slipping out of his stance. Preston tries to tell himself his stomach doesn’t twist when the General grins at him - it’s a losing battle, really. He was never that good at denial.  
“Such formalities so early in the morning,” the General quips. “I’ve told you to just call me Oliver.”

He has, but Preston doesn’t even dare to use that familiarity in the privacy of his own head. He’s not good at being in denial, but he’s even worse at being in– at being attracted to someone. Especially if that someone is technically, if a little less practically, his boss. Calling the General “Oliver”, allowing himself that familiarity, would make it possible to think about him as a friend. As more than a friend. Sticking to the title keeps it a little more impersonal.  
He can’t say any of this, though, so he says nothing.

The General looks around, as though he’s only now noticing his surroundings for the first time in hours. That might very well be the case, actually. “Is everyone else sleeping in, or…?”  


“Dogmeat woke me up,” Preston says. He gestures a little with his gun - carefully, of course. “I was just going to see if anything was wrong.”  


“Ah.” The General, of all things, looks almost abashed. He looks down at the ground and rubs his neck. His hair, usually covered by his flat cap, falls over his forehead and almost into his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says. “He gets a little enthusiastic.”  


As if to prove his master’s point, Dogmeat gives another bark, though softer and more playful than before, and wags his tail. The General’s grin grows crooked. He leans down a little to scratch the dog behind the ears.  


“Not a problem,” Preston says. “Keeps me on my toes.”  


The General looks up. His expression has changed, but Preston can’t tell to what. Mischievous, maybe? “You need someone to keep you on your toes?” the General asks, and his expression suddenly makes sense. Dear god, are they flirting? Preston is suddenly very aware of the General’s lack of clothes. Damn, it really is warm for this time of day, isn’t it?  


“Not really. You do that well enough,” Preston manages to shoot back. It’s the right thing to say, evidently, judging by the glint in the General’s eyes.  


“And don’t you forget it.” The General runs his eyes over Preston - who feels it like a physical touch - then looks down, and then away. “In any case, I should get cleaned up. Piper asked me to drop by her office later.”  


“Don’t want to keep her waiting, General,” Preston agrees.  


The General looks back at him. “Oliver,” he corrects, before he turns around and jogs away with a wave over his shoulder. Dogmeat runs after him, his tail still wagging. Preston watches him leave. If his eyes linger on Oliver’s shoulders– the General. The General’s shoulders. Damn it. – as they move, well, he’s the only one who knows.


End file.
